


Afterlife Counsel

by goldenteaset



Category: Fate/Grand Order
Genre: Dark Comedy, Gen, Mythology References, Necromancy, background Lancer/Saber
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-13
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-12-15 01:09:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11795289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenteaset/pseuds/goldenteaset
Summary: Fionn has another bizarre Noble Phantasm in his arsenal, useful for escaping labyrinths (and other useful tricks). It's a   "mystery" Diarmuid soon discovers he's far too familiar with.





	Afterlife Counsel

**Author's Note:**

> Neither Fionn or Diarmuid are available in NA yet, but frankly I couldn't resist having a reason to bring up one of Fionn's more...bizarre Diarmuid-related abilities. I attempted a similar premise before, but it got too confusing/complicated, so I shelved it. But no more! 
> 
> (I'm still going to be posting the next chapter of "Battle Continuation" this week, but I've been blocked. Editing and posting this made for a good break.)
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Fate/Grand Order, or the Fenian Cycle (despite the latter being in the public domain).

Diarmuid frowns at the endless labyrinth that stretches out before them. The white walls and ceiling practically cocoon Diarmuid, Asterios, Lord Fionn and their Master, and there’re no openings to be seen. If he looks behind him, he can see the hasty scratch to mark their place their Master left behind.

They stand before three carved doorways, each shadowed and ominous to behold. Previously, they marked each one they passed through—but after running into a dragon-filled trap, they must be more cautious this time.

Diarmuid sighs, and his exhale turns to white mist. _At this rate, Saber will be dining alone tonight…. No, I_ will _overcome this!_

“This place will take forever to escape from, my Lady,” he says, turning to his Master behind him. “Perhaps there is some hidden passageway we can’t sense?”

His Master sighs and shakes her head. Her red hair sways about her face as she moves. “I’ve tried everything, and nothing works.”

Asterios looks crestfallen, lowering his shaggy head to stare down at the floor. “I’m, sorry. This isn’t, the labyrinth, I know.”

“That is fine, Sir Asterios,” Lord Fionn says, stretching out a hand and patting Asterios’ huge elbow. “You’ve done all you could to aid us!”

“…Hm. Thanks!”

“We’ve searched everywhere we can, and marked every wall. The fact is, we’re still lost.” Despite their Master’s gloomy words, she still manages a smile. “But we’ve been through worse, right? So we’ll just have to look harder!”

Lord Fionn clears his throat politely, and both Master and Servants turn to look at him. “I may have a solution to our predicament,” he says, nothing but confidence in his sky-blue eyes. “Master, do you have enough mana for a Noble Phantasm?”

Asterios’ ears perk up. “Hum!”

Master’s gold eyes light up with hope. “Absolutely! Is it Mac an Luin? The, uh…salmon…thing?”

Diarmuid cringes. “Really, Master, you make it sound so dull…”

Lord Fionn doesn’t seem to mind, though. He chuckles and shakes his head. “Wrong on both counts! However, it is something just as precious to me.” He grins at Diarmuid. “In fact, it’s something even my finest knight has never seen before!”

“Wh—truly, my Lord?” Diarmuid’s heart begins to race; he thought he knew every skill and Noble Phantasm his lord and High King possessed, what could it possibly be? He thought that the Salmon of Knowledge would be enough to aid them in this troubled time, but if Lord Fionn has a solution, he’ll gladly hear it out.

“I have shown no one else this Noble Phantasm,” Lord Fionn says solemnly. “Do you swear to keep it a secret, even from those you hold most dear?”

“Of course!” Diarmuid and Master say at once, their voices echoing in the distance.

Asterios nods, his black and red eyes wide with curiosity.

It seems Lord Fionn expected that. “Very well!”

Lord Fionn throws back his arm, making the blue cloak clasped about his shoulder ripple. A hush falls over the labyrinth; the dry, endless walls themselves seem to be holding their breath. Diarmuid, Asterios and Master look at each other with mirrored excitement, then back at Lord Fionn.

“ _Once more, let me look upon him_ ,” Lord Fionn intones, his eyes closed in reverence. “ _That emblem of my tragedy_ …”

Strangely, this Noble Phantasm seems nameless. Despite that, a green light pulses in the air, and Diarmuid grins as a burst of mana flows from both his Master and Lord Fionn. _It’s nearly here, my Lord’s mysterious power…!_

“Behold!” Lord Fionn cries, lifts his hand skyward—

—And a corpse flops into his arms.

Silence. Diarmuid stares at the sight, his jaw slackening further with each elongated second that passes. Because despite the corpse’s body being gripped by rigor mortis, a smile of death on its ashen face, he knows who it once was intimately.

Asterios, undeterred, sidles over to Lord Fionn and bends his head to better sniff the corpse. After a moment, he nods to himself and declares “Dead.” He looks to his Master with concern. “Don’t touch, it, okay?”

His Master makes a choking sound, and Diarmuid hears her press her back against the nearest wall. “Fionn,” she says, her voice straining with the effort to remain calm, “is that _Diarmuid_?”

“Of course,” Lord Fionn says, propping the corpse up and slinging an arm around it like they’re two drinking companions. “I regretted my actions against my finest knight deeply…and this is the result. One of my finest spells, in fact.”

For the second time in his life, Diarmuid aims his spears at his lord. “Lord Fionn, I implore you to put that… _thing_ back where it belongs!”

Lord Fionn wrinkles his nose in confusion. “But why, Diarmuid? I have yet to show you its worth!” He looks at the corpse thoughtfully. “Hmm, as you are here beside me, its main use won’t be obvious…your counsel, shall we say, is freely granted.”

Asterios chuckles—it’s a strange sound, somewhere between rolling thunder and boyish mirth.

“Then accept my counsel _now_!” Diarmuid steps back to Master, to shield her from the vile creature and the local eccentric who summoned it. “Nothing good can come of such sorcery!”

“…As always, you are far too humble, Diarmuid. Ah, well, perhaps that’s one of your ‘charm points’, as our Master would say.”

“You’re wasting Master’s precious mana!”

“Yes, that’s, wrong. _Don’t_!”

“…Very well. Then we must make haste, and escape.”

“Uh, so,” their Master pipes up, still looking a little green, “what’re you going to do with corpse-Lancer, anyway?”

“Your support is appreciated from the bottom of my heart, Master!” Lord Fionn bows, and the corpse spills forward in grotesque imitation. “Behold, _Diarmuid’s Afterlife Counsel_!”

Just as Diarmuid registers that the “Noble Phantasm” has a name after all, Lord Fionn strides to the three dark doorways, corpse in arm. Once he stands before them, the light of the torches flickering eerily across him, he holds out the corpse like an offering.

Then he spins it around like a top, his long hair billowing in the self-made wind. The corpse’s arms flutter about like a rag doll, and Diarmuid wonders queasily if there are bones left in the thing at all.

Then Lord Fionn lets go, and the corpse _thuds_ unceremoniously toward the left door.

“That way!” Lord Fionn proclaims, pointing for effect.

“…Are you sure?” Master asks, shifting her weight back and forth.

“Absolutely, Master! This spell has yet to fail me.”

Asterios doesn’t give his opinion, too distracted by a spider webbing up a moth on the ceiling.

“What if the corpse is injured?” Diarmuid holds back his gag reflex at the thought of what remains of the thing’s internal organs.

“Oh, he’s hale and hearty, considering his circumstances.” Lord Fionn chortles and scoops up the corpse, which rests its papery head on his shoulder. “What say you, Dead Diarmuid?”

The wait is agonizing.

“You see? Healthy as a horse!”

With great reluctance, Diarmuid, Asterios and their Master follow Lord Fionn’s unflinching stride.

“Is Fionn…” She’s choosing her words with great care. “… _Okay_?”

“Nope!” Asterios says cheerfully.

Master shushes him, worried that Lord Fionn heard.

“Sorry,” Asterios whispers.

“The corpse _can_ talk, if that’s what you mean,” Diarmuid whispers back, wondering how best to explain this—indeed, if there _is_ a way to explain this. “He uses… _used_ it as a conduit for my soul. We spoke often, after my death.”

“Oh! And that’s why you’re on good terms?”

“At the moment,” Diarmuid mutters. “If he gets that corpse anywhere near your person, Master—!”

No traps appear, and the pass through safely.

Inevitably, the encounter more foes: skeleton warriors that chatter and lunge for them in a wave of bone.

They’re easy pickings for Diarmuid; he beats back the first wave with a single spin of Gae Buidhe.

“You’re doing great!” his Master calls from a few paces away.

Diarmuid’s spirits soar with such heartfelt praise. “Thank you, Master!” He can feel his strength improving.

Asterios charges into the fray, bellowing and tossing skeletons into the walls. Bones clatter to the floor like hail.

“Master,” Fionn says with great decorum, “allow me to show you another of _this_ Diarmuid’s talents!”

“…Okay, I guess,” Master replies cheerfully.

Fionn dips his head in thanks and adjusts his grip on the corpse, holding it by the ankles. Its head sways from side to side, yet its brittle hair droops listlessly, like a wilted plant.

Diarmuid has a foreboding premonition and ponders whacking his Lord and friend upside the head to prevent the coming catastrophe.

“As if dancing…!” With a cry of triumph, Fionn charges forward.

He swings the corpse over his head like a flail, bashing and crashing through skeletons as he goes. The corpse’s arms and neck lash out like whips of flesh and goo, deadly even in…well, death.

If Diarmuid looks closely, he can see the corpse’s stomach sloshing and bouncing. He may be but a knight, but he has _some_ pride in his well-honed body, and to see his abdominal muscles in such pathetic state is…

_…I see. So this is hell._

Only the thought of dinner with Saber keeps him from succumbing to mortification.

The skeletons don’t fear death or humiliation, it seems: they let the corpse strike them down where they stand. (Perhaps they were stunned by Fionn’s eccentricity—that, too, is possible.)

It’s over in an instant. Fionn stands amidst the wreckage, panting heavily, with the corpse’s ankles hanging loose in his grip.

Asterios gives him polite applause, looking genuinely intrigued.

“Well,” Fionn says cheerily, once he catches his breath. “Shall we move on?”

Diarmuid bares his teeth in a grin. “After you, my Lord.”

\---

At the next fork in the labyrinth, Lord Fionn spins the corpse again, and the enemies they face are easy pickings. As much as Diarmuid wants to deny it, the corpse has a remarkable knack for direction. _Indeed, you could say it has better luck…_

Diarmuid carefully ignores how Lord Fionn dotes on the corpse; as soon as a revolting stench begins to rise from it, his Lord whips out a bottle of Chaldea-brand cologne and spritzes the corpse until it smells…less unpleasant. It’s a surreal sight, and one best not lingered upon. (Diarmuid wants to enjoy his dinner with Saber before the day is out.)

In a matter of an hour, they exit the labyrinth at last, the corpse having led them to safety. If nothing else, their Master seems pleased at the three Mana Prisms she pockets.

Lord Fionn and corpse bow together in the fading light of dusk, and the corpse vanishes in another burst of green light.

Asterios plops down on the dusk-drenched grass and wiggles his toes in contentment. His hair floats in the soft breeze like a cloud. Diarmuid has half a mind to join him.

“Thanks for your help, Fionn,” Master says cheerily, as if nothing happened.

Lord Fionn demurs, as expected.

Diarmuid sighs with relief. He can’t gripe to Saber about this in detail, due to his oath, but that may be for the best. Perhaps this is the end of today’s madness.

Key word: perhaps.

\---

He arrives a few minutes late for his dinner with Saber, but she doesn’t seem to mind.

“I’m pleased to see you’ve returned safely, Lancer,” she says, her smile like a small sun. “How goes the new training regimen?”

Diarmuid chuckles nervously and takes his seat across from her at the Chaldea cafeteria. _And it appears Lady DaVinci pulled some strings…I must thank her later._ It may not be a restaurant worthy of the King of Knights, but with warm lighting overhead, comfortable seats, and a table overlooking the snowy mountains reflected outside, it has its charms.

Diarmuid expected Saber to be too exhausted from her own training to keep their appointment. That she not only managed it, but seemed to be _concerned_ for him…

_…Truly, I am blessed._

“Lancer? What is it?”

“Oh, nothing in particular,” he replies, looking over the menu in front of him. _Hmm…I could try that chicken Parmesan dish that red-clad Archer was describing earlier, or perhaps—_

“—You know, Lancer,” Saber says, unwittingly interrupting Lancer’s thoughts, “Our Master said that King Fionn had an interesting method of escaping labyrinths. It should prove useful in the battles to come.”

Diarmuid tries his best to smile naturally. “Is that so?”

“You do not approve?” Saber looks almost playful.

Before Diarmuid can answer, the cafeteria door flies open and Lord Fionn strides in. It appears he just took a bath—he’s careful about his appearance, as befits a King—and there’s no trace of weariness on his face. He catches sight of Diarmuid and Saber and waves; Diarmuid has a pang of worry that he’s going to make some tone-deaf comment. _I’ll endeavor to keep the subject away from corpses._

“Greetings, Diarmuid—and King of Knights,” Lord Fionn says with a sunny smile of his own. “Forgive my interruption, but I wished to congratulate Diarmuid on performing so well today!”

Diarmuid’s face lights up in a surprised grin. “You’re too kind, Lord Fionn!”

Saber smiles and inclines her head politely at Lord Fionn. “To give your loyal knight such willing praise, you are a just lord indeed.”

Now it’s Lord Fionn’s turn to glow with pride. “As the leader of the Knights of Fianna, I can do nothing but my best!”

Diarmuid allows himself to relax. Perhaps his lord won’t stick his foot in his mouth today after all.

Of course, luck rarely blesses Diarmuid with its presence, and today is no exception.

“So, Fionn,” Saber says, after taking a sip of water, “what would I need to do to see that mysterious Noble Phantasm our Master spoke of?”

Lord Fionn’s eyelids lower a fraction, and a familiar, proud smile crosses his lips. “King of Knights, as you have Diarmuid’s heart in your hands, I can show you this inst—”

Diarmuid’s vision turns red, and his stomach lurches in horror. _I will not allow it; no, I_ cannot _allow it!_

With that resolve firmly in hand, Diarmuid rises to his feet, pondering whether or not he can try to talk Lord Fionn down from his inevitable folly. Just as he opens his mouth…

…A large, wooly shadow looms over the table.

“I, can, help, you,” Asterios murmurs shyly, with Master looking like a child by his side. “I know, labyrinths, well.”

Diarmuid could hug both of them right now, and dance a reel or two in the bargain. “You will be of great help, Asterios!”

Asterios nods sagely, pink tinting his cheeks. “…Hm. Thanks.”

“That’s right,” Master says with a warm smile at Lord Fionn, “a Noble Phantasm like that should only be used when worst comes to worst, right?”

“…Oh.” Lord Fionn almost looks shy. “Yes, of course, Master!”

Saber blinks. “Oh, I see. If it’s something like that…I understand.” She inclines her head at Lord Fionn. “I am flattered by your opinion of me, but I must decline your offer.”

Diarmuid’s about to sit back down, but Asterios tugs lightly at his sleeve. “Is something the matter?”

Asterios flicks a glance back and forth, searching for any eavesdroppers, before jerking a thumb toward a quiet corner of the cafeteria. Diarmuid follows him, and stares up at the gentle giant curiously.

Asterios takes a moment to collect his thoughts. Then he bends down and whispers “Are you, okay? You looked, angry. Before.”

Diarmuid rubs the back of his neck and smiles sheepishly. “I felt embarrassed, but after what you just did—I will be quite alright.”

Asterios grins, showing off his white teeth. “I, did, well?”

“Most certainly.”

Asterios looms over him, giddy as a child. “Then, come play soon!”

Diarmuid looks at him askance. “…I beg your pardon?”

“Play with, me. And Master. Just like, today!” Asterios takes Diarmuid’s hands in his, and they look as tiny and fragile as flower petals by comparison. He’s very careful, as a result. “Please?”

It occurs to Diarmuid that Master hasn’t brought Asterios out into battle often, even on training missions. _No doubt he feels cooped up here, and alone. That is not how a person should live._

Asterios’ smile threatens to falter. His eyes carry the hidden dread of someone left behind too often.

“It would be my pleasure,” Diarmuid says, meaning every word.

Asterios’ shoulders sag with relief, and he ambles back to Master with a spring in his huge step.

Diarmuid looks back to Saber, waiting patiently for him, and wonders if he should rethink his negative thoughts on today. Indeed, even with Lord Fionn’s…eccentricities, was he not able to rekindle one bond and create another?

“Lancer,” Saber says in surprise when Diarmuid returns to his seat, “you seem in a buoyant mood. May I ask why?”

Diarmuid grins and raises his glass of water to her. “Fresh starts, and being near friends old and new. What more could a man like me ask for?”

Saber smiles and clinks her glass with his, her gaze warm and tranquil. “Indeed, we are truly blessed.” 

Diarmuid sits back and drinks deeply, secure in the knowledge that Saber won't see Fionn's "third Noble Phantasm" any time soon.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> (Diarmuid doesn't call the female protag by name, like most Servants, so I had to play around a bit to avoid being repetitive. Also Fionn is "Lord" here despite technically being High King, because as far as Fionn's concerned he's already serving a king--the protagonist. If that makes sense? ^^;)


End file.
